


i wanna touch on you.

by shariling



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art Student Rey, Camboy Ben Solo, F/M, ben has a big dick, but there will definitely be some, hilariously i don't know if there will be that much porn in this, nude model
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:16:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29911308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shariling/pseuds/shariling
Summary: Slinking out of his room, Finn means to make a B-line exit to the fridge for some much needed Monster Energy inspiration, intending not to observe Rey at all in her feral porn habitat. However. Peeking a glance at her computer screen, he saunters up behind her, tilting his head in interest at the image decorating both their corneas.He whistles.“Check out the cock on that guy.”“I know right?” Rey peers up at him, shifting in her seat, notably drawing her lead-stained fingertips away from where they’d been drifting to the front of her pants. “He should come with a warning sign.”—Or: college student Rey finds art inspiration in a handsome camboy by the name of Kylo Ren. What's she supposed to do, when the nude model for her drawing class just happens to be the guy filling up pages and pages in her sketchbook?
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 7
Kudos: 82





	i wanna touch on you.

Really, Rey doesn’t frequent Pornhub often. As a pointed sign of rebellion against porn’s obvious treatment of women, maybe — or because she was born with the God given talent of imagination, and doesn’t really require visual cues from people spitting in each others mouths, or sucking on toes to get off. _Or_ , as luck would have it this college aged lady, in school for an art degree, working between two jobs (three, sometimes, when Holdo has shifts) just never really has the chance to masturbate with any real _oomph._

It is not the case she finds herself in tonight. She doesn’t go looking for porn so much as she goes looking for references. Porn is a great tool to use for proper musculature, with handsome men and women putting their lovely, curvy bodies on display, in a way that strikes up inspiration to the worms called _college courses_ that are currently eating away at her brain. She finds a girl with elegant looking feet, and pauses on a particularly gaping shot of her abused asshole to get the point of her toes just right — Finn comes home around that time, flinching away at the image on her screen before retreating into the safety of his room. 

He knows she isn’t jerking it in the cozy contours of their overly crowded with furniture family room which _does_ double as Rey’s bedroom where those kinds of activities would take place, but he also doesn’t possess the backbone required in making smalltalk while the dulcet tones of a woman’s pounded vagina fill in the gaps of their words. Rey’s never been particularly bothered by the taboos of sex, which is maybe why she doesn’t find porn terribly exciting. It’s just acting, just doing a job. She imagines all the behind the scenes work of it and it takes her out of the mood, thinking about whatever catering they have going on behind the lens of the camera, about how many awkward angles there are, about how long they’ve been going at it behind the cut of movie magic. 

In part, that’s why she finds herself drawn to more private videos. One on one, camgirls and the like. Once she finishes up her feet drawings, she goes on the hunt for something new to experience, maybe something soft and intimate, and that’s when she finds _him._

Raven black hair, and a smooth, muscular chest. But what really draws her are these _eyes_ , ravenous enough to make her think he’s looking past a webcam, directly into the pit of her over caffeinated, suddenly horny soul. He looks starving, deprived. Like if he could reach through the screen and the sands of time, he’d like nothing more than to take a bite out of her. 

As a pretty shocking revelation, Rey realizes she’d let him. So named _KyloRen_ with the handsome eyes and the _fuck me_ mouth. Honestly, Rey can’t put pencil to paper fast enough, and before she knows it, she has four pages in her sketch book dedicated to the fair features all across this mystery man. The vee of his hips, the point of his chin. The way that, when she presses play, his hands curve around his handsome cock like it’s the first time, like he has all the leisure time in the world to discover his own attractiveness. Like watching a flower come to bloom, her eyes are rapt as he takes himself, pale skin flushed, lips bitten. When he comes, it’s in these thick, heavy ropes across his chest, shooting up hard and high enough to paint his jaw. His fingers are glossy when they skate up to his mouth, coating his tongue in his own release, but he catches his teeth on his fingers in a sharp grin anyway, as if he knows the kind of rapture currently written out on Rey’s awestruck face.

Her mouth is dry by the end of it. Other parts of her are decidedly not. It’s the only video he has uploaded, but a screen at the end of it leads to another website, which Rey dutifully follows, finding its contents hidden behind a monthly subscription wall. Well. She gives herself a firm nod, saying a chanting phrase of _always pay your artists!_ to herself as she fishes out her debit card, offering up money that her broke college student self doesn’t really have, to see more of this god of a man. For the price of a cup of coffee, she’ll see more of him. Have more references to draw. It’s a worthwhile investment, she tells herself. It’s a secret that can live between her and her bank account, that Rey Johnson, a notorious penny pincher, is now paying for _porn._

Slinking out of his room, Finn means to make a B-line exit to the fridge for some much needed Monster Energy inspiration, intending not to observe Rey at all in her feral porn habitat. However. Peeking a glance at her computer screen, he saunters up behind her, tilting his head in interest at the image decorating both their corneas. 

He whistles.

“Check out the cock on that guy.”

“I know right?” Rey peers up at him, shifting in her seat, notably drawing her lead-stained fingertips away from where they’d been drifting to the front of her pants. “He should come with a warning sign.”

—

Six months later and Rey has given Kylo Ren a total of sixty dollars. Half is the subscription fee — moving through his back catalogue with all the grace of a newly born gazelle, eating up his dozens of planned, recorded videos in no time. They’re more official recordings. Still just him and his webcam, but there’s some intent involved with it — a script, maybe, or a goal for each. The other half of her porn-spent money goes towards his live shows running most days of the week, where he sits in front of the screen and takes requests.

She is a little embarrassed by her humble five dollar offerings when she has time to watch his videos live — it’s all she has to offer up, with a slight request of _can you come closer to the camera?_ or _can you change the lighting?_ or _can you clench your jaw?_

Silly things. Still, Kylo sees to them, and she likes to pretend it’s maybe a bit of a relief to get something mundane amongst all the _pinch your nipples_ and _don’t come_ requests that he gets. 

“You’re an odd one, Sunnyside.”

He tells her, once. _SunnysideUp_ her hastily thought of username, an homage to her preferred style of eggs. She was probably hungry when she first subscribed. It feels weirdly intimate, when he says it — and Rey is rapt, watching as he tilts his head up toward his ring light, eyes illuminated enough that she can see they’re lighter than she initially thought. Her calloused and bruised fingers start sketching him out from a new angle, and before she knows it there’s a whole new page in her sketchbook dedicated to him, before he goes on to ride a dildo big enough to give even his own dick a run for its money.

Really, her schoolwork is blossoming from all this deep study. Her musculature and figure drawing talent has increased exponentially, and where she thought she favored a more cartoonish style, she finds herself more and more drifting towards realism, trying to capture the essence of the man on paper. Because of that, she has no real fear when their lessons start up with real life figure drawings, the addition of _nudity_ to their already fairly colorful classroom making some girls in the class giggle with excitement. 

They are less excited when most of the models on set are, shall we say, more mature than they were expecting.

“Rey, I’m never going to look like that, am I?” Poe whispers to her when an older gentleman stepped out of his robes, posing with a walking stick. Rey only ever really turns to look at him when she’s glaring at him, shooting daggers from her eyes. 

“You would be so lucky,” she says, putting her focus back on the model and the canvass ahead of her. 

Honestly, she likes older bodies. Or — imperfect bodies, really, covered in wrinkles and scars and stretch marks and other blemishes. Signs of age, a body that’s been lived in, that’s lived through things to wind up here, poised naked, before immature college students. Her own body isn’t lacking those tell all signs of struggle, and she’s learned to document them in her art, looking at herself as a subject rather than a person. Her scars as lines of poetry, instead of the effects of hurt. These wrinkles as waves of water, instead of the signs of old age. 

At the sound of her professor’s phone alarm, Rey sets down her pencil, happy with her sketch. She takes a moment to crack all her fingers, rolling her shoulders as if a boxer before the start of a new match. 

Which is all the more apt, considering the gut punch she takes in the next moment. 

There’s a murmur among her classmates as the next model steps out, although Rey pays more mind to sharpening her pencil, carving it into a blunt end that serves her well for these purposes. By the time he’s at the center of the class it’s too late to reel in her reaction — she sits, wide eyed and mortified, as the very center of her art inspiration these last few months stands before her, nervously it seems, clenching and unclenching his jaw.

Kylo Ren. In the flesh. In her _college classroom._

She’s probably the only one who doesn’t gasp when he drops his robe — _because she’s already seen it, with rods pushed into the urethra, with a ring around his balls until his cock is purple and begging_ — revealing his ( universally considered ) giant penis.

“Settle down,” her professor says. Rey’s stuck in a trance, staring at him, red up to her ears in evident shame. Poe kicks her foot, but it doesn’t startle her much, not until Kylo glances in her direction, pulling a sticky, drawn out moment in time between them. Eye contact is the worst. She’s felt it before but _he_ hasn’t, his shadowy brown eyes staring through a computer and boring directly into her soul.

And then she glances down, to her blank canvas, and wills the Earth to split open and swallow her whole. 

When it doesn’t, and her professor starts the timer, she decides to focus on the paper and not the man. She spent long hours studying him in all different positions — she can conjure up something similar to the angle he’d given her just before, a little too spooked and distrusting of her own gaze to look back up to him. She sketches. It’s supposed to be a full bodied, rough thing, but Rey loses her focus on the assignment at hand and instead just gets lost in the frequent hurricane of Kylo’s form all over again. She draws his head, erases, and draws his eyes instead. His nose, aquiline and perfect, the downturn of his naturally pouty mouth, sometimes rubbed red and raw from sucking on hard silicone for the pleasure of viewing audiences everywhere. 

But this is supposed to be a respectable, safe space. She’s not supposed to be drawing _Kylo Ren_ the camboy, the man who takes up more space in her recent sketchpads than any one subject. More than herself, for sure, and even more than the stray cats that hover outside her and Finn’s building — and that’s saying something. Eventually Rey’s discomfort melts away, and her eyes flick up to view him in the flesh, only to find him staring directly, _intently_ right at her. 

Most models will look up to the ceiling, or down at their bare feet. Kylo looks at Rey, and if it’s meant to be a challenge, then she rises up to meet it, her intense, knitted brow gaze staring at him, while her hands work double time across her paper. By the time the alarm goes off, her fingers feel numb and charcoal stained from their intent work, pulling back to crack her knuckles and look over all she’s done. 

And it’s really, very good. It’s just — only his head. Very detailed and very realistic, but. Just his head. 

Working out the cramps from her hands, she looks back up. The weird mix of chagrin and relief to see Kylo pulling on a robe makes her stomach do weird flips back and forth, but it switches to straight panic when she sees him start to flutter around people’s sketchpads to see their work. It’s not unusual. The models always want to see what the artists cook up, and the artists are usually happy to share. 

Not Rey, obviously. Not only has she completely flunked her assignment in the wake of her undying thirst, but she basically just drew an homage to his beautiful face, neglecting the entire point of having a nude model in the first place. It could not shout _I am uncomfortable with your naked body and huge penis!_ more. If anything is to be counted on, it’s the fact that if Poe sees a pretty man with a giant dick, he will set to flirting like a paper house on fire — so he will, personally, wave Kylo Ren over to her station to look at his sketch. The station beside hers. He will have to bury her too, and say kinder things at her funeral than he ever had in real life.

She sees it starting to play out in slow motion, Kylo sauntering over, watching the people he talks to as their bright, flirtatious grins sweep off their face in a cloud of smoke, left gawking at him indignantly, or sometimes even outwardly volatile. Not very charming it seems, as Rey’s eyes are taken by the huffing and puffing of offended art students angrily shoving their pencils into their kits, which gives Rey one single, fluttering sliver of hope. He was the last model for the day. That means —

The extent of her embarrassment is only determined by how quickly she can cover up the drawing. The _drawing_ that somehow seems even more intimate than if she had only drawn his impressive, beautiful cock. 

Her hurry is her downfall. Rey is not a graceful person, and in shoving her pencils in a pouch they decidedly never all fit in, they clatter to the floor in a rolling pile of rapidly disappearing art supplies. Well. If she can pick _those_ up quickly, maybe it isn’t too late — although she already sees the outcome of her clumsiness by the time it comes to fruition, when huge, thick hands are handing her off her charcoal pencils where their two bodies are knelt on the floor.

She wonders if the head of his dick is touching the linoleum. 

“Oh — thank you.” 

Rey stutters it out as she takes the fallen betrayers of little pencils, ignoring the heat from Kylo’s fingers as they brush hers. She rapidly collects the rest of them before standing, trying to make a quick escape. He still hasn’t seen. There’s still time. 

“No problem,” he says. His voice is even more velvety in person, deeper, gravelly even when he hasn’t orgasmed for the third time in a row. Rey clears her throat, ducking her head. “Hey, it’s Rey, right? I heard your friend call you that.”

“That’s me.”

“Why don’t you want me to see your drawing?”

She peers up incredulously at him, as if shocked he had the gall to ask. By now, students are disappearing out of the room, leaving wide open space for Rey to run through and dissolve into the crowd. She shakes her head. When Kylo tries to side step and see her easel, she steps with him, blocking his view. 

“Why do you want to see it so bad?”

“Well, mostly because you don’t want to show it to me,” he admits squinting his eyes, letting his brow lift playfully. Rey has never wanted to kiss someone more. She’s never wanted to _stab_ someone more. “Show me.”

“Mm … no, I don’t think so.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Bad? Excuse you.”

“I mean, did you draw me funny? Huge nose, big ears?”

“You’re fishing for a compliment,” Rey says, and she squints at him, judgmentally. “I think it’s a dick-based compliment. You would’ve had better luck with the other girls — the ones you chased away?”

He perks at that, looking over his shoulder in apparent surprise, like he really didn’t notice he offended anyone. The wayward, angry glances still being pushed in his direction make him tilt his head in apparent interest, which is just the distraction Rey needs to snatch her drawing, for once not minding wrinkles in the paper as she cups it to her chest, likely smudging black all over the front of her shirt. The sound draws his attention back to her, and a furrow comes to his thick brow, plush lips popping in an almost pout.

 _Almost_ , because she’s seen the genuine thing, on cam. Every _please, JizzBlaster420, can’t I come?_

“Hey.” He makes a reach for it, and Rey turns her body away from him, taking a step back. “I wanna see.”

“Get used to disappointment.”

A flicker of anger crosses through his expression, which is maybe understandable. He’d just gone through all the work of showing a group of immature college students his huge dick after all, and probably deserves to see their cartoonish depictions of it for all his effort. Rey’s sympathy pains died out early this morning, though, when someone swiped the last everything bagel at Einstein’s — so she holds no remorse for the angry look on his face, and juts out her chin defiantly, practically asking him to cause a scene. Frustrated, he brushes a hand through his hair, before settling his massive arms in a cross over his chest.

It makes the short length of his robe rise up that much more. Rey wishes she trusted anyone the way Kylo is trusting that robe.

“Why won’t you just _show_ me?”

“Because I won’t.”

“That’s not a real answer.”

“I told you to get used to disappointment,” she comments with a shrug, ignoring the way this robbed man approaches her, sticking his finger out in a point to give her a piece of his mind. Before he has the chance, she barrels on, picking up her book bag all the while keeping her drawing pinned to her chest. “Anyway, bye, Kylo. Have a nice life.”

Oddly, it seems to stop him in his tracks, whatever complaint he had dying swiftly on his lips as Rey looks at him, presumably for the last time, and darts out of the classroom.

—

Working through her shift at Maz’s diner, she gets an email notif on her phone — _KyloRen has gone live._ in minimalistic, white font on a black backdrop. Suspiciously, her eyes narrow, snapped back from her trance as the cook slides out an order of chilli cheese fries for the table she’s on. With a premonition in mind, she gathers an extra handful of napkins and lays it all out of the table, although her heart really isn’t in it when she tells the four drunk at 7pm college boys to dig in. Despite the napkins, she does kind of hope they get chilli on their Ralph Lauren sweaters.

It’s just a weird day, for a Kylo session. Masturbating on a Monday?

She supposes she’s really not one to judge, about masturbating. Neither do the days of the week coincide with anyone’s horniness levels, like some law abiding rule that everyone’s libidos go to hell and die on Monday and Tuesday. It is a beast of burden that will attack at all the worst times, although she does have to wonder if _horniness_ really has anything to do with being a camboy. Surely it can’t be genuine, right?

Provided that her shift ended ten minutes ago, and that she’ll stay here for another twenty while the drunk boys figure out the pathway of _fries to mouth_ , she pushes it out of her mind. If he goes for his usual two hour session, she’ll be able to get home in time to maybe watch the second half of it — and maybe be able to subtly request he pose in the exact same position he did at school today, so she can try and make up for her strange faults and apparent obsession with his beauty. You know, normal stuff. 

The weirdest thing about signing up for a camboy’s service has not been the demented blow her tailored ads have taken, frequently asking if she’d be interested in a penis pump ( she’s not ) or if she takes penis enlarging pills ( she doesn’t ). The _weirdest_ thing has been the sense of community involved in the chatroom that Rey boots up once she gets home, her screen illuminating half with Kylo’s spread legs and a hand around his cock, and half with the chat lighting up with messages that say _hi Sunny!_ and _good to see you!_ and _careful, Sunny, Kylo’s in a mood today._

Ridiculous, to feel warmed by it. Knowing there’s a space she takes up in the chat, that someone would notice if she was gone. Saying her hellos is just enough time for Kylo’s attention to move back to the screen, one hand still wrapped around his purpling cock. Massive hands, and his cock dwarfs them. 

“Hey, Sunny,” he groans it, eyes narrowing at the screen. _Sunny_ , he says, and Rey tries to wipe the memory of him saying her real name earlier today. “I’m not taking requests today. Just sit back and take it.”

With some confusion in her gaze, she does note that the donate button has been locked off — so much for her project, although the underlying implication of it overwhelms any disappointment that she might’ve had. He’s not taking any money for this? Doing his job for free tonight, on a weird day and at a weird hour, telling his captive audience to sit back and take what they’re given, to be grateful they’re given anything at all. 

He seems annoyed, maintaining the same knot in his brow that he had earlier, all deep intensity and anger filling his molten, caramel eyes. Interest fills Rey as readly and as willingly as her own irritation, pulling out her sketchbook with a snap and drawing with a black pen before she can think better on it. Hard, scratchy lines — as sharp and as deadly as the gaze he’s forcing through the screen, making Rey’s jaw clench, her panties soak.

“You like that?” He squeezes the head, twisting. He and Rey hiss at the same time. “Show me your tits, _god_ , your _tits_ —”

Instinctively, her free hand moves to cup one of her breasts. It’s small, easy to hold, tightened to a peak under her shirt, under her sports bra. She’s more surprised she grabbed it at all, taking his words as instruction, feeling a little silly as she pulls down her shirt, lifting her boob out of her bra. The elastic bites into her underboob, which is really most of her boob, but her nipple just makes the cut in the open air. Almost shyly, she licks at her fingers before moving to pinch the rosy bud, gasping at the sensation.

“You know what I’d do?”

She shakes her head. _No, I don’t. Yell at a bunch of college girls? Trip over your dick trying to get somewhere?_

“I’d put you in my lap,” he almost coos, in direct contrast to the furious way he strokes his cock, taking a break only to slap at the underside, letting his dick bob with each hit. “I’d make you wait.”

Something like a growl falls out of her chest, frustrated with his apparent patience. Not that he’s talking to her, not that he’s _stopping_ her. Just that he would, maybe. If he was speaking directly to her, if she was sitting in his lap, wanton and begging for relief. He wouldn’t offer it.

“I’d make you ask for it.”

 _I just didn’t show you my drawing,_ Rey thinks, to absolutely no one but her oversensitive nipple, where she’s rolling it around it circles between her fingers. _You have no right to deny me orgasms._

“Earn it. Show me what a good girl you are. And I’ll — _fuck_.” The tip of his cock leaks generously, precome glistening across the head enough to slicken the glide, pumping his fist up and down himself with a hotter fervor. “I’ll take care of you, I’ll show you. Sweetheart, I’ll make you come.”

It’s permission as any, she imagines — Kylo Ren cooing in her ear, telling her what a good girl she is, how nice her tits are, the promises of her orgasms hidden there on the tip of his tongue. She drops her pen, instead moving to palm her dripping cunt through the material of her pajama shorts, pressing against her folds messily, until she can rub the cotton against her swollen clit, letting out a breathy sigh as she draws herself closer.

Kylo gets as needy as she does, grunting in a feral way that doesn’t suit his usual camera personality. In fact — it’s almost like the camera isn’t there at all, like he’s just doing it for himself, under the covers and in the dark, muffling moans so a roommate can’t hear.

Or maybe Rey is projecting. Finn’s door is shut, but he has ears like a cat. 

“ _God_ , yeah,” he moans, reaching his free hand down to squeeze his balls, pulling them from his dick as he focuses on the head, jerking himself just under the crown of his cock. He’s close, his lips bruised red, eyes blown out with liquid fury. “Come for me, baby. Wanna see —”

_Yes, yes, yes, I’ll come, don’t stop._

“Fucking —”

_Let me come for you, let me give you this, you complete asshole._

“ _Rey_ —”

Well.

It was unexpected.

Rey’s hands stop immediately where they were poised at the cliff edge of her orgasm, looking up in time to see Kylo shooting silvery ropes all over his chest, catching his chin in a furious mess of splattering come. Feeling her stomach drop, she first looks up at the webcam in her laptop, as if to make sure it wasn’t just — on? The whole time? But the light isn’t on, which means —

He just happened to say her name? While masturbating? Her _real_ name, this time?

Belatedly, she lets out a shout of surprise, reaching forward and slamming her laptop shut with a loud _smack_. Imagine if things couldn’t possibly get worse, if Finn hadn’t heard the yell and ran out of his room, just in time to see Rey falling backwards out of her computer chair, one tit out, a look of shocked embarrassment written around her mousey features.

“Okay,” Finn said, eyeing her boob before nodding once. “I can see you’re going through something.”

And then promptly shut the door, to leave Rey alone with her disappeared orgasm, a chapped nipple, and the knowledge of what Kylo Ren sounds like when he comes with _her_ name on his mouth.

So, yes.

It’s definitely something.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from cyber sex by doja cat!
> 
> the start of a new series, i hope u enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it. so far i only have three chapters planned, but i maintain the right to change that as i figure out more for them in the story - maybe a plot, eventually?? who knows
> 
> comment if you liked it, and if you like, come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/supershario). thanks for reading!


End file.
